Warming Up
by reinadefuego
Summary: What Mook really needs is hot food, coffee, and a hot shower — with her grenade launcher-carrying boyfriend of course. Triple Threat (2019), Deveraux/Mook. Ficlet.


"Mook, run!" Deveraux laughs as rain runs off his boonie hat and trickles down his neck and chest, soaking through his shirt and the tank beneath it. After going to all that trouble of finding a decent area in the woods for practise, they've been washed out and sent packing. "I think Collins jinxed the weather."

"He always jinxes it." Her fringe is stuck to her face, half in her eyes, and no matter how many times she pushes it out of the way it falls back into place. Mook hadn't planned on being caught outside when the storm arrived but here they are. She grabs ahold of the railing next to the front steps and hurls herself up onto the porch, all the while Deveraux is on her six, covering her ass and keeping an eye on the perimeter.

It's a habit that's kept them both alive for several missions now. Deveraux steps onto the porch and pulls his hat off. He tosses it aside then strips his upper clothes off, adding it to the pile in the porch basket. By the look of things, Joey and Collins are back themselves. "Whew. Tell me somebody's got the coffee on."

"Coffee, tea, and hot chocolate, mate," Collins shouts from the lounge room. "Take your pick, and take your boots off too! I don't want mud all over me fucking carpet, alright?"

What are they, children? She rolls her eyes and gets on with it, kicking her own boots off and shaking the water from her hair. Mook's already half through the doorway by the time Deveraux's tipped half a lake out of his boots. Socks stripped off, she dries her feet on the 'welcome to the man cave' doormat before stepping inside. What she really needs is hot food, coffee, _and_ a hot shower. "Towels?"

"To your left." Ideally they would've entered via the mud room, Collins thinks, but beggars can't be choosers. England's weather is a pain in the arse. When Mother Nature decides she's going to shit all over your up-till-now lovely day, she doesn't hesitate to make it a big one. "Shower's all yours, Mook."

She turns and smiles at Deveraux then snatches up a towel and legs it to the bathroom. He'll be along shortly, she thinks, but before they can get up to any mischief, she needs to warm up. Getting pneumonia isn't any fun, and being stuck in a hospital bed doesn't pay her wage.

"So what's the status on this bullshit with the SIS?" Deveraux asks, towelling himself off. His cargo pants are damp enough he'll have to change out of them too lest Collins complain about his furniture. "Or MI6. Whatever they call themselves."

"No idea. I'm still waiting on the contact to come back to me."

Like that wasn't the obvious answer, he thinks. Despite the generous offer of money, Deveraux's had a bad feeling about this job since learning the offer involved "Indonesia" and "infiltration".

Without another word said between them, Deveraux walks to the bathroom and eases the door open, catching a glimpse of Mook in the mirror. Every muscle in her body has been toned from exercise and miltary training, every inch of her skin graced by the hot tropical sun of southeast Asia. There's only one word for what Mook is: beautiful.

"Some day you're going to have very bad timing," Mook teases, "and it will be Joey in here instead of me."

"God, I hope not." One of the prerequisites for the team basing themselves out of Collins' spare house was a large shower. When only one member of the team is under five foot eight, it makes sense to ensure the huge guy with broad shoulders can comfortably fit beneath the shower head. Deveraux drops his towel in the washing basket and sets his watch on the windowsill before stepping inside the shower, pants and all. "Maybe later we can go back out there and you can—"

Thunder rumbles in the distance as if in forewarning. The rain grows heavier till they can hear it hammering the tiled roof and Deveraux just shakes his head, slipping his large muscled arms around Mook's waist. "I guess we'll just have to make our own fun in here."

"Okay." She draws his head down and kisses him, memorising the feel of his lips on hers. The hot water of the shower beats at her skin, warming her and making her skin flush with heat. "But only after we eat. I'm _starving_, and you still haven't shown me how to make biscuits."

"Oh, so that's how it is." He removes his pants, tosses them one-handed into the basket and grabs a bottle of body wash off the holder. "You're only dating me for my cooking skills, huh? Now the truth's coming out."

"I like a man who can cook." Mook snatches the bottle and squirts some gel into her hand. She works it into a foamy lather over the smooth dark skin of his chest, following the curve of his pectorals down to the solid mass of his abdominals. Deveraux is handsome, gorgeous, and neat. He takes pride in himself and she appreciates that — even when he does come back from the gym smelling more than a little nasty. "It means he's good with his hands."

He grins and takes the bottle back, applying it liberally to her shoulders and upper chest. Another kiss and a teasing swipe of her hand gets his attention, and Deveraux returns the gesture by massaging her upper body slowly and _thoroughly_. "I am, aren't I?"


End file.
